


Admissions

by UnshoddenShipper



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Chores, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnshoddenShipper/pseuds/UnshoddenShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But the fact of the matter was, not only did he love a nerdy man named Dick- he was in deep. Too deep. He’d realized this long ago, lying awake at night trying to figure himself out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Admissions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hidley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidley/gifts), [the-twerpiest-twerp](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the-twerpiest-twerp).
  * Inspired by [Kisses Are Sweetest In The Morning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731839) by [hidley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidley/pseuds/hidley). 



> For the-twerpiest-twerp on tumblr, who wanted a Grimmons first kiss. ;D
> 
> Also, shout out to hidley’s fic “Kisses Are Sweetest In the Morning”, because Grif making his move after dinner has been my headcanon since reading it. Read hidley’s stuff; it’s great.

The day was winding down for Red Team in Valhalla, with a familiar domesticity nobody ever addressed. Dinner was an eclectic blend of MREs and vegetarian spaghetti, with a side of the usual bickering, and afterwards Donut pulled Doc away to watch TV. ...Surprisingly, Lopez joined them. Doc’s "new family member" status was pretty much been accepted without comment. The dude’s okay, really- he treats Donut well and cried tears of joy when invited to join Scrabble last Thursday. Sarge disappeared too; probably off to bed, because he’s old and lame and gets up with the sun. Which leaves Simmons, ever loyal to the chore wheel, hand-washing dishes. Grif dries and stacks them once he’s done, because it’s not that big a deal _really_ , and he knows it pleases Simmons. 

And pleasing Simmons pleases him, deep down. 

The tiny “clinks” the dishes make pepper their conversation, and he’s not sure when exactly this development had occurred. At no point did it dawn on Dexter that he loved Richard Simmons; it grew on him, in him, in a manner that never announced itself. But the fact of the matter was, not only did he love a nerdy man named Dick- he was in deep. Too deep. He’d realized this long ago, lying awake at night trying to figure himself out. Like, sure, Simmons was hot, and fun to kick back with. But that’s not what this was. 

Oh no. 

We’re talking marriage ceremony, hosting Thanksgiving at their house, ‘what color do we remodel the bathroom’, grow-old-and-die-together type stuff here. Grif wanted it all. Honey do lists, breakfast in bed, a couple cats. And oddly enough? It didn’t freak him out one bit. He stood in the middle of the Reds’ kitchen, wiping the white plate in his hands, and he’d made his peace with this shit a long time ago.

What did freak him out was imagining a life without the cyborg in it at all; Grif couldn’t even go there with himself. After all this time, it was literally unimaginable. Hence not bringing feelings up, despite having this big weird emotional boner for his pretty much 24/7 companion. For the past, like, infinite years.

He’d rather be chill and friends than let’s-just-be-friends; that would fuck up their whole system. And if Grif was honest, sad as it was, at this point romantic rejection from Dick Simmons would probably leave him crying under the shower like a broken hearted teenager. And _nobody_ wants to see that. Jesus Christ.

But if he didn’t bring it up, he doubted Simmons would. Even if the feeling was mutual, the dude had self esteem issues, and communication issues, and just general issues a mile wide. He fucked up ordering at restaurants sometimes.

Nah, this… This would probably be on Grif’s initiative.

The orange soldier casts Simmons a sidelong glance, watching as he rolls his eyes at something Grif said, and coming back with a sharp reply. The lighting on Simmons was great here… it reflected off the rims of his glasses; made his hair look soft; his skin look warm. As per usual Grif can read him like a book: Simmons is enjoying himself. He’s calm, he’s comfortable, standing straight-backed and talking with his mismatched, soapy hands. Grif’s eyes are drawn to the way his maroon T-shirt hugs his shoulders, and dips across his collarbone. The flashes of white, white teeth as he speaks. Grif swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. 

His mouth goes dry.

They’re not getting any younger.

“Hey, Simmons?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna go on the roof for a bit?”

“Sure, just let me finish these up.”

\- - - - -

Perched atop their base, legs dangling off the edge, Grif can’t help but be reminded of Blood Gulch. They used to do this for hours, but instead of waterfalls and islands, all they had to look at was a wall of rock and a shitty blue base.

All the same, thinking about Blood Gulch gives him a warmer kind of nostalgia than he ever thought it would.

The silence is comfortable; they listen to alien insects chirping in the grass, and the sound of waves lapping the shore. Grif looks up, and sees a bizarre blend of stars, many much bigger and brighter than he’d seen before bedding down in Valhalla. The clusters of dots are foreign and feel more 3-D than he was accustomed to, but beside him sits the maroon soldier in pajama pants and he’s familiar as ever.

Grif swallows, but it doesn’t help much. He licks his lips. Glancing over, he sees Simmons looking at the stars, too.

“Hey, uh… Simmons?”

“Mmmm?”

“Um, can I tell you something kind of personal?”

That gets the his attention, drawing that glowing cyborg eye to Grif’s reddening face. God, is he seriously gonna do this? What the fuck, this was such a bad idea. Fuck.

“Sure, Grif,” Simmons supplies. There’s uncertainty to his tone, and Grif knows why. They’ve discussed damn near everything under the various suns, after all. All kinds of personal shit. Gooey, vulnerable, uncomfortable shit Grif would never share with anybody else. What makes this so different?

...

Maybe… 

Maybe it’s kind of not?

The Hawaiian man can feel heat fucking **radiating** from his face. Dexter Grif reaches out, hand shaking just a bit, and clasps Simmons’ fingers with his. It’s a solid touch, and his heart’s pounding in his ears. 

Holy shit. 

Holy fucking shit, here we go.

He waits, eyes locked on this new development... but Simmons doesn’t move; doesn’t pull away. Grif breathes in and out, once. He lifts his gaze to the cyborg’s face, and he sees surprise; sees redness crawling up the other man’s neck. 

“I love you," Simmons blurts out, clear as day. 

Grif’s mouth falls open, eyebrows shooting up into his hair.

Simmons compresses his lips, but it’s too late. What’s done is done. 

The silence is sharp. 

It lasts.

Taking a long, steadying breath, Simmons tilts his head to the side. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. It’s rattled. 

“...You know that, right?” 

Dexter Grif breathes in, and out. It’s wobbly, and so is he. He closes his eyes, shakes his head the tiniest bit. His mouth is a grimace. 

“Oh thank god,” he mutters, squeezing Dick’s hand, still held in his.

He opens his eyes again, looking up at the sky. “Ohhh, thank **god** ,” Dex repeats, louder, laughing. The relief flooding his system is _insane_. He snaps his head back, looking Simmons square in the face. 

“Me too,” he declares. “I love you too.” 

Simmons moves his lips, but no sound comes out. It registers for Grif that he’s not breathing- he’s frozen. Sucking a deep breath and blinking back to life, he grips Grif’s hand with sudden force and comes crashing forward, mashing their mouths together with his eyes squeezed shut. Grif’s eyes are blown open, shoulders hunching up, back stiff as a board. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, his eyelids slide closed. 

He unwinds. 

He kisses Simmons back, all chapped lips and fluttering heart. They stay like that, not moving a muscle. 

When Dick pulls away, his face is almost the color of his shirt. At length, he licks his lips. 

“ _Sor_ ry, I-” Simmons' voice cracks. He coughs, clears his throat, tries again. “You grabbed my hand and I got all carried away and just blurted that out. And then you didn’t say anything and I worried-" 

“Simmons-” 

“I was worried I sprung that on you way too quickly,” he laughs at himself, ducking his head, but he doesn’t break eye contact. 

“Nah, no, you’re good,” Grif gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, breathing deeply. He can’t help the shit-eating grin on his face. His heart’s still palpitating; his face is terribly warm. 

“I should have said that a long time ago,” Simmons mutters. 

“Oh, dude,” Grif leans back, propping himself up with his free hand- the one Simmons hadn’t donated. “Jesus, me too. Ages ago.” 

“Yeah?” The question is soft, but the look on Dick’s face can only be described as ‘delighted’. 

“Yeah.” 

“We suck at this,” Simmons laughs as he says it, and Grif chuckles back, a little light-headed. Taking a steadying breath, he leans in just so, and Simmons is on board immediately, closing his eyes and puckering his lips expectantly. 

Affection and amusement make Grif pause a moment, admiring him. He burns this image in his memory, and everything about it, down to the chirping bugs in the grass and the warmth of Simmons' hand. His head is reeling from how great this feels; he’s so excited he could literally go running. Instead, he detangles their fingers, making Dick's eyes snap open. 

Smoothly, so easily, he brings both his hands up and cups Simmons' jaw. Confusion and alarm just _melt_ out of the other man’s face, and the planet’s biggest smile wrinkles his still-human eye. His skin is almost hot, blushing as he was, and when he puckers his lips a second time Grif obliges. 

‘Cause deep down, it pleases him to please Simmons. 


End file.
